


Break-In

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: A little dubconny in the beginning, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bathing, Blow Job, Choking, Feeding, Fighting, Multi, OT3, PWP, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Rim job, Rough Sex, Sensory Overload, Shower Sex, Threesome, Unholy Trinity Sex Tango, but it's very much consensual, m/m/f, some bdsm elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: Frank and Elektra break into Matt’s apartment. Then they break into Matt.PWP. One-shot.





	Break-In

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> I’m taking prompts on Tumblr to ease the pain of the cancellation. Feel free to send me ideas there! Reader asked for, "Hows this for a prompt: Matt returns to his apartment where hes surprised by and double teamed by Frank & Elektra." Seeing as how this is NSFW, I felt it only right to post it here. 
> 
> Readers, enjoy!

* * *

Break-In

The break-in is just the latest in a series of misfortunes. Matt almost expects it, really, what with everything else that’s happened: sleeping late, the cab getting stuck in traffic, losing the case, caught in a downpour, hand slammed in the filing cabinet at work (Karen apologized, but his fingers still sting); dropping his phone on the stoop and cracking the screen, and now, this. A thundering heartbeat in his living room. Bottle of Scotch open and wafting from the coffee table.

Matt groans. He slams the door behind him, doesn’t even bother ripping off his coat before charging forward. “Get out,” he says by way of a greeting.

“Whoa, easy there, Choir Boy,” Frank says from the armchair. His eyes crawl over Matt, taking in the soaked clothing and dishevelled appearance with a special kind of zeal undercutting his otherwise impassive heartbeat. “How yah been?”   
  
“Get out,” Matt says, more forcefully this time. He is simultaneously very much in the mood to throw Frank out of his apartment and _so not_.

Another heartbeat emerges from the loft. Matt groans. “I told you to lead with the Scotch,” Elektra says as she comes down the stairs.

“You get out too,” Matt tells her.

“Oh.” She mock pouts so loudly that he can hear her. “Someone had a bad day.”

“You look like shit, Red.”

“Fuck off, Frank.”   
  
“Oh, someone had a very bad day.” Elektra takes up the glasses of Scotch from the table. She hands one to Matt, and she holds them together after clinking so he can’t throw the glass against the wall. “Drink up, Matthew.”

She sips at her own glass, her gaze palpable on the back of his hand. Her smile rising in pitch like a tightening string, like a villain’s theme.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asks.

Elektra empties her glass. “Surprising you.”

“You got me: I’m surprised. Now get out.”   
  
Frank is out of the chair. “Quit your bitching and drink your damn Scotch.”   
  
Matt steps past Elektra: “Get. Out. Of my. Apartment.”

“Make me,” Frank snarls.

Elektra holds her glass up to Frank and puts her free hand to Matt’s chest. “Now, now, boys, none of that.” She taps the bottom of Matt’s glass. “Drink up.”   
  
“What are you –?”   
  
“Shut it,” Frank says. He comes over and takes Elektra’s glass from her, placing it on the table, and then he moves seamlessly into her orbit. They shift together into a single heartbeat, a single skin, no telling where she ends and Frank begins, only that one is in front of him and one’s behind.

Matt tosses back his Scotch. He goes to throw the glass, to disrupt this alliance they’ve forged, but Frank takes the glass from him. Matt opens his mouth to protest and gets interrupted by Elektra unbuttoning his jacket.

He steps back into Frank, who rips open the lapels of his coat faster than Elektra can unbutton them. Matt loses the jacket by the time his words catch up with him: “Okay,” he tries to step away from them, “You both need to leave.”

“Pissy, ain’t he?”   
  
“He’s just had a rough day.” Elektra combs a hand through his hair; Matt shirks her off, but she’s so insistent. She finds the spot behind his neck and he stops moving. “Haven’t you, Matthew? Just one long, rough day.”   
  
She nuzzles her face to his, and Matt finds his feet rooted to the spot, his arms dead weight at his sides. He stands there, absorbing her heat through his rain-soaked skin, counting the seconds till it’s over, till they’re on their way out, but then Frank has him by the shoulders – “Alright, that’s it” – and Matt’s dragged to the bathroom.

Elektra taps her foot on the floor. “We said we were going to take it slow.”   
  
“Not that slow,” Frank says.

Matt swings at him on their way through the doorway. Frank absorbs the blow in what seems like a first mistake, but it’s quickly apparent that taking the first hit is all part of the plan. Matt’s efforts to fight his way out of the bathroom land him further into the room, and once there, Frank gets him by the arms, pushes him to his knees, and holds him there for Elektra to arrive.

She closes the door behind her. “We also said we were going to be gentle.”   
  
“He doesn’t want gentle. Ain’t that right, Red?“ Frank twists his arms up higher, till the bones are pulling hard against their sockets. Till Matt’s ear is right by Frank’s mouth, and Frank’s rough voice is speaking directly to those deepest, darkest parts of him: “When the hell do you ever want it gentle?”   
  
The grip on his arms loosens ever-so-slightly. Frank gives Matt the inch he needs to take the whole mile, and Matt rips himself free, launching into the fight against them both. He trips Elektra; he puts his fists to Frank. The small quarters makes it easy to find them, but it doesn’t take long for them to find their synchronicity. They come together: Frank this steady percussion line and Elektra all giant steps and jazz music. They play him in an elaborate chess game, switching off strategizing for improvisation, and Matt fights his way straight into the corner only to have Frank crash down on him.

Matt grips Frank by the shoulders and kisses him, hard. Frank pulls back as if scalded. He raises his hand in what seems like a smack only to rip the glasses off Matt’s face before he kisses Matt again, harder this time. He tosses the glasses back – to Elektra? Matt can’t tell? Frank boxes him in, planting his massive arms against the wall by Matt’s shoulders.

Taps squeak. Cold water shoots out of the shower head. Matt yelps, ducking back; it’s the second time today he’s been caught in the cold. He waits for punishment from Frank, but Elektra’s there, hushing him. She kisses him quiet and then lets her mouth travel down, unbuttoning his shirt to make way for her lips as she goes.

Frank’s behind him, drawing the shirt off his skin. The hot water burns through the damp and the chill Matt’s been wearing, and he grips the shower head to keep from falling over as Elektra reaches his naval and a whole new kind of heat fills him, the heat he’s been evading since he first arrived to them in his apartment. A heat that builds between his hips to almost painful degrees as Elektra unbuckles his belt and gets his pants undone.

Matt kicks off his shoes. He tries to get at his socks. “I told you he doesn’t want it gentle,” Frank says from within the spray of hot water. He reaches down and hooks a finger into Matt’s sock, and he drags his nail over Matt’s ankle in an effort to get Matt’s clothes off.

That done, Frank rises, and Matt barely senses him through the heat and the steam before they’re kissing again. Matt moans into Frank’s mouth, his hand slipping from the neck of the showerhead. Suddenly the only thing keeping him upright is being pressed against Frank’s chest, is having Frank wrap a hand around his neck and squeeze stars through the blackness in his brain.

His pants drop. Elektra’s hands don’t follow. They curl around Matt’s hips, nails scraping across his ass while Frank pets his abdominals and murmurs lowly into his ear about how shitty the day is, how they’re gonna make it better, how Matt doesn’t deserve bad days. How he’s such a God damn hero, isn’t he? _So fucking good_. Matt almost finishes from the gravel scrape of it through his ears, from Frank Castle’s war drum heartbeat punching hard against his spine with that word, that one word: _good, good, good_.

Elektra takes him in her mouth, and thank God for Frank’s hand, for her hands. Thank God they’re on him. Holding him tight and pinning him close and cutting off his breath, because Matt wants to flee or at least try to flee. He wants to see how badly they want him, wants to know how far they’re willing to go to keep him there, and shit, they must want him badly, because Matt can’t get away. He can’t.

He comes quickly and descends into a haze of hot water and steam, to Elektra’s lips and teeth and fingers running rampant around his groin. Frank pushes him into the wall scrubbing him down, and it’s good, it’s good to be caught between hard places, good to get dragged, limp and spent into soft towels and soft touches.

They end up in the bedroom. Elektra and Frank switch places, and this time she takes the lead on confounding his senses with sweet nothings whispered into his ear while Frank lays him back on the bed and finger fucks him into submission. Elektra sits on his face and Matt is eating her out when Frank slams inside him, and he languishes under the taste of Elektra and the feeling of Frank’s cock punching into his throat.

He comes again, and he’s certain the game continues, but his brain finally, mercifully, shuts up, and everything is snapshots of sensation: Elektra giving him the world’s greatest rim job, her tongue worrying the splits left by Frank’s dick in such a way that he melts, that he moans, that he begs her for more; Frank fucking his mouth so hard that his voice is nothing more than a rasp afterward, not that Matt’s capable of finding words in his scrambled brain; he lies sprawled out in Elektra’s lap, her hands playing through his hair, the taste of Frank loud and lingering on his face almost to the point of blocking out whatever it is Frank is doing to his nipples and dick that’s making him gasp and spasm against the silk sheets.

He's fed: soft things, fingers foods. Their hands pushing deeper and deeper into his mouth, chastising him when he bites at them only to glow, to bloom, when he wraps his lips around them in kisses, when he sucks back on their fingers like he never wants them to go. By the time they’re done, Matt’s jaw is slack, and his breath is tracing the rough grooves of Frank’s abdominals; Elektra’s pressed herself so tightly into his back they may as well share the same body. And he tries to say thank you, tries to tell them how good this feels, but the best he can muster is a moan.

“Shut up, Red,” Frank tells him, stroking his hair.

“Go to sleep, Matthew,” Elektra adds, snuggling her cheek against his shoulder blade.

Matt’s eyes slip closed, and he doesn’t try to escape.

* * *

Happy Reading!


End file.
